


What Have I Become?

by ladyoneill



Series: Lady O's Teen Wolf Bingo Stories [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek, Dark, M/M, POV First Person, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Alpha Pack put his dad in a coma and Stiles loses it and takes out his pain and anger on Derek...who lets him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Have I Become?

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus, I have no clue where this came from. I've been struggling to come up with a story for the Derek/Stiles "hate sex" TW Bingo prompt and this is what happens? It's VERY dark and nasty. Please don't read if you're triggered by rape or forced sex or even unwanted sex. Also, I never see Stiles as the top in any relationship, hell, not even with Lydia! So, really, this is not what I planned.

I blame him for everything. Erica's death. Peter's resurrection and inevitable betrayal. Jackson bolting and leaving Lydia devastated and vulnerable to that fucking teen Alpha. And finally, my dad getting savaged by the fucking Alpha Pack

All of it. 

Dad in a coma, though, that was the last straw, and I burst into the loft to scream at Derek, to beat on him, to, hell, I don't know...

I was ranting, barely able to breathe through the threats and the hatred and Derek just took it. Arms folded over his chest, fucking stoic look on his face. Even when I hit him, he didn't do anything.

He's still not doing anything. He's pinned to the bed, letting me bite at his throat with my human teeth, his hands limp at his sides.

His dick is hard, though, as hard as mine, but he's passive. Doesn't make a move to do anything about it.

So I grind down on him and, fuck, it's so good, but I'm still so pissed off, and I yank up his t-shirt and bite and suck at his chest and stomach. The muscles beneath my mouth ripple, I hear him grunt softly, but he just lets me.

He's going to let me do anything I want to him, and I should stop, I really should, because there's something wrong here, but I'm horny and angry and upset, and I really want to fuck him and fuck him up.

Everyone else is fucking. I'm the only virgin in the Pack and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of everything.

Sitting up, I tug at his belt, getting it open, then his jeans. I can feel him looking at me, but I don't want to see what's in his eyes, so I just pull until his jeans and boxers are down to his knees, then I shove at his hip until he rolls over.

Jesus, his ass looks as hard as marble, curved just perfectly, and I lean down and bite one globe, leaving a mark that too quickly fades. So, I bite again on the other cheek, gnawing at the hot skin that tastes like sweat and salt and soap.

Derek groans and shivers, but still is passive. He wants me to do this. He really does.

I fumble my own jeans open and down, freeing my aching cock, and I pump it, spreading the pre cum along the length. Spitting in my hand, I add that, then lean down and pull his ass cheeks apart and spit on his hole.

It's not enough lubrication, but I don't care. He's a werewolf, he'll heal, and I want to hurt. I already hurt. I just want to fuck my brains out and stop thinking about my dad and Erica and being afraid and of everything I've lost.

Jabbing two fingers into his tight hole, I spread them as wide as I can, and Derek grunts again and makes the first proactive move--he lifts to his knees.

And he speaks for the first time since I ran into the loft.

"Do it, Stiles."

There's bitterness in his growl and it pisses me off even more. I slam a third finger into him, spit again, and push that in as well, then I pull all of them out and line up my cock. I'm shaking now, not sure why, but I manage to get the head past the tight rim before Derek pushes backwards.

Fuck! He's so tight and hot and I'm gonna come way too soon. All the way in, I stay still, panting, fighting for control, and Derek stills as well.

When I can finally breathe again, I pull back and fuck in again. My hands take his hips, yanking him backwards, and it does hurt because he's so tight and too dry, but I don't care. It feels amazing, too. I know it's ungraceful, uncoordinated, and I don't fucking care. I want to come inside something other than my own hand.

Little grunts start echoing from me, my pelvis slaps against his ass, my fingers ache from gripping too tightly, but I just fuck and fuck and fuck and...

Coming almost makes me black out and, as I shudder, I fall forward over Derek's back, and he holds me up, still taking it. He's panting, though, head smashed into the mattress, fingers gripping the sheet, and when my softening cock slides out of him, I feel him tremble.

I'm still shaking from my orgasm, but I'm still angry and upset, too. I never did stop thinking. I still hurt. I'm still terrified.

My dad's still in a coma.

Shoving myself back onto my heels, I roll Derek onto his back again. His cock is hard and flush against his stomach, the leaking tip dampening his t-shirt, and I reach for it, jerking it at a quick pace. The angle isn't comfortable, but I don't care. I want him to come. I want him to come because I let him. I made him.

I still refuse to meet his eyes. He's breathing harshly through his nose, shivering and squirming, trying to buck into my hand, but I slap my other hand down on his stomach, holding him down.

A part of me knows that Derek's letting me pin him, letting me fuck him, but I don't care what his reasons for doing so are. I just hold him in place until he growls and comes all over my fingers.

When I finally let him go, I wipe his cum on his trembling thighs, then yank up my pants and fasten them. 

I got want I wanted and now I want out of here. I...

Derek's going to kill me.

Panic hits and I can't breathe. I flail and fall across the mattress, and Derek has me in his arms, whispering to me, running his hands down my back. Soothing me, he's fucking soothing me and I...I...Oh God, what did I do?

Finally, when I calm, when I can breathe again, our eyes meet and his are so sad and lost.

He couldn't save Erica. He couldn't stop Peter. He couldn't keep Jackson here.

He couldn't protect my dad. 

He's taken it all on himself. I didn't need to blame him. I...

Oh fuck...

I just raped Derek and he let me because he thinks that's all he deserves.

I can't help it. Tears spill down my cheeks and I start to sob, because what the fuck have I become?

Derek keeps holding me, keeps soothing me, and that's just so wrong.

"I'm sorry," I sob over and over again.

And Derek finally murmurs, "I know."

It doesn't help, and I still feel like shit, even as I let him comfort me until exhaustion takes me.

My last thought is that I hope I never wake up.

End

**Author's Note:**

> So, if you got this far, um...thank you? 
> 
> I think this proves to me and probably all of you who are new to my writing (been doing this for nearly thirty-five years) that my mind can [still] go to very dark places. I haven't written anything this dark in a long time.
> 
> But, the muse took me and I went with it.
> 
> I do believe that fanon Derek thinks he doesn't deserve any nice things, any happiness, so he very well might allow Stiles to do this. Derek's already broken and will probably be okay. Stiles may never be okay again as his perception of himself has just shifted horrifically.


End file.
